The Pursuit of Friendship
by whitetiger91
Summary: Finding friends is not easy for Lysander, but he's determined not to give up.


_**A/N: This story was written as an entry for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 8 (Bonus Round 2).**_

 _ **House: Gryffindor**_

 _ **Year: Head Girl**_

 _ **Category: Bonus (#2)**_

 _ **Prompts:**_

 ** _Theme 1: Pursuit - The action of pursuing someone or something._**

 ** _Colour 7: Xanadu._**

 ** _Prompt 2: [Speech] "What makes you think I understand?"_**

 _ **Word count: 2981 words (written on Google docs)**_

 ** _Betas: Thank you to CK (Theoretical-Optimist) for beta'ing! Xx_**

 ** _Additional A/N:_** ** _Please see notes below for further reader (not necessarily judging) information. This is AU in as much as the next-gen is left for us to interpret (I don't personally accept_ The Cursed Child _as canon nor have I read or watched it, so the children are my own head canon). It also explores Autism as written by someone who is not Autistic. I sincerely hope you enjoy this!_**

* * *

 **The Pursuit of Friendship**

"They're kind of like Aurors, but they use Muggle weapons and all wear the same grey-green outfits," Lorcan says, holding up a magazine.

"And don't forget the green face paint," Fred adds, pointing to the picture of a soldier with mud on his face.

"It's xanadu."

Lysander doesn't like the way he can feel the boys' eyes turn to him as he stares at the magazine. He's seen it a thousand times already, knows all the details. It's his favourite picture, and when Lorcan had asked to borrow the magazine because it looked "cool," he'd only given it over because his twin had promised to look after it.

"What?" James asks, taking the magazine.

He flinches as the Gryffindor's dirty hands rub against the smooth face of the soldier, but he'd promised Lorcan that he wouldn't make a fuss. In return, his brother had promised that he'd make friends if he shared and spoke more.

"It's not green; it's xanadu. Xanadu is composed of 45.1% red, 52.5% green, and 47.1% blue," he recites.

It's one of his favourite colours in the world. It's not axolotl or bottle-green or even Cambridge-blue; it's xanadu. When he finally tears his eyes away from the soldier, he sees the other boys rolling their eyes.

"Anyway," Fred says, placing his own grubby fingers over the page, "Muggles are actually pretty cool. Uncle Charlie says some of them used their weapons to protect the dragons in Peru, even though they didn't know what they were doing."

"Hey, maybe we should paint our faces green and go hassle the Slytherins," James says, nudging Fred.

"I've got a few green robes Nanna made. We can blend into the forest and wait for them to come out," Fred replies.

Lysander twists his hands together. He doesn't understand; didn't they listen to him? It's xanadu, not green!

"No, we should paint our faces red and blue, in honour of our houses," Jeremy chimes in. "Green is too Slytherin."

He looks at the boys—or rather, at his twin—hoping that they'll correct themselves. It's _xanadu_. None of them look upset that they have it wrong, though, and they continue plotting.

"You're doing that thing again," Lorcan mutters when he finally turns to him.

Lysander keeps twisting his hands. He moves them away when his brother tries to pry them apart and whispers, "It's xanadu."

The action catches the attention of the other boys, who nudge each other. "It seems we've upset Mr Zan-doo," James says.

Lorcan shoots him a glare, but there's still a smile on James' face as he gives Lysander the magazine.

"Here. We've got plans to make," he says.

Together, the boys head off down the corridor laughing.

Lorcan turns to him and sighs. "Maybe next time," he says, before following his friends.

He doesn't understand why they've left him; he'd done exactly what Lorcan had said. Shouldn't they be friends now?

* * *

"I think I'm ready to pursue a friendship again," Lysander says, concentrating on his brother's face.

From the corner of his eye, he sees his brother's friends smirking. Lorcan puts down his toast and shifts in his seat.

"It's okay if you'd rather study in the library," he says, motioning around the Ravenclaw table. "It's what most of us do."

It's exactly what their mother always said, too: that it's perfectly okay if he spends time by himself at Hogwarts. She also told him that making friends was the best thing she'd ever done at school, and it's this that makes Lysander determined to have his own friends.

"I'd like to make friends," he repeats.

Lorcan looks around at their peers—Jeremy is shaking his head and Nathaniel is tugging at his collar—before he sighs. "Okay, but don't emba—just don't talk about colours, alright?"

Lysander tucks that bit of information into his brain and sits down. At eight o'clock, he's usually heading off to class, but he knows that the boys are also in Charms with him. Just this once, he'll wait for them.  
"Don't look at the clock, either," Lorcan mutters.

He focuses on a plate of scrambled eggs as the boys start talking about class.

"I hope someone lets an Acromantula loose so class gets cancelled," Jeremy says.

He knows this is unlikely, but a quick glance at Lorcan, who shakes his head, reminds him not to say anything. He turns his gaze back to the clock and brings his hands together. Normally, he'd now be sitting in the classroom, waiting for Professor Flitwick to arrive.

The sound of laughter cuts into his thoughts, and he turns to see Lorcan grinning.

"That reminds me, have you heard this one?" his twin asks. "Why does our Herbology teacher use two bathroom stalls? Because he has a Longbottom!"

Around him, everyone bursts into laughter.

Jeremy wipes at his eyes and turns to him. "Don't you get it?"

"What makes you think I understand?" Lysander asks. "It's not possible to use two toilets like that."

This only causes Jeremy to burst into more laughter whilst beside him, Lorcan groans. "It's a joke, Ly."

His cheeks burn and he stands up. Jeremy continues to laugh, and he has a feeling it's not about the joke.

"Lysander…" He turns around at his twin's voice. "Maybe you should try people more your… speed. Maybe Jonathon from Hufflepuff?"

Jonathon Lee is an older boy who frequently talks to himself. Lysander always hears people making fun of him and even remembers having a class meeting during his second week of school in which the professors explained why Jonathon is like he is. Not for the first time, he wonders if his own house has held a secret meeting about _him._

They're both different to other students, but that doesn't mean they have to hang out together.

As he leaves the Great Hall, he almost runs into the old caretaker, Mr Filch. The man's stooped over a mop, trying to wipe up what looks like the aftermath of a frogspawn soap-based prank.

"You've missed a spot," Lysander says, pointing to some of the mustard-green slime that has pooled against the wall.

Filch glowers at him. "Bet you think this is funny, don't you? Run off to class."

"But running is against the rules." It's a strange order coming from a staff member, and he pauses to watch the mop swirl about the floor.

It heads straight for his feet, and when he looks up, he sees that Filch's jowl is quivering. "No more cheek or I'll have you in detention!"

He dodges away from the mop and continues walking to class. Why does no one like him?

* * *

Lysander prefers the school at night. It's always quieter, with little chance of running into a group of students laughing and shoving each other, and giving him plenty of time to think.

His mother is wrong; friendship is certainly nothing he should pursue. No matter how many times he's tried, no one wants to be his friend—not even Jonathon Lee. Despite knowing he achieves Outstandings in most of his subjects, his peers tell him he's "too stupid" to understand what they're talking about.

As he walks past Filch's office, he notices that the light is still on and the door is open. The man doesn't patrol the corridors at night anymore; he's usually asleep at this time. Peering around the door, Lysander sees him sitting at a small table. His brow is furrowed and he's wringing his hands together.

"Damnit!" Filch says, glaring at a book in front of him. He then looks down at his feet where a skinny cat is lying on a blanket. "Don't worry, Mrs Norris, I'll learn this yet. You'll be alright."

He knows it's a little silly, but watching Filch talk to his cat makes him want to smile. Lorcan and his friends are always making fun of Lysander for talking to animals, but he finds animals know how to respect his boundaries better than humans.

He steps inside.

Filch jumps. "A student out of bed? What do you think—"

"Hello Mr Filch, I think I'd like to pursue a friendship with you," he says, staring at the man's forehead.

He notices there are a lot of wrinkles lining his head, but he doesn't point this out. They become deeper as the man says, "Is this some sort of prank? I'll have you in detention for this."

Bending down, Lysander reaches out to pat Mrs Norris. He's a little hesitant—he doesn't really like the texture of fur—but the tufts of her dusty-brown coat look beautiful. She barely lifts her head up as he pets her.

"You understand me," he says. His eyes are still on the cat but his words are for Filch.

When Lysander stands up and looks back at the man, he sees some of the wrinkles have gone again. His voice is still angry-sounding, though.

"What makes you think I understand?"

He shrugs as he turns to the clock on the wall. It's almost time to go back to bed, and he's already diverged from his routine long enough for one night.

"Good night, Mr Filch," he says and skips back out the door.

* * *

Pursuing Filch is easy; the man's routine is quite like his own. Lysander finds him in the third-floor corridor cleaning the windows with an old rag. He wonders why the man doesn't just use his wand, but when he sees him dig the cloth into the tiny crevices where the glass meets the bricks, he understands. Magic is certainly no substitute when it comes to the tiny details.

"Don't forget that part," he says, pointing to a bit of grime.

Filch turns around. "You again? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"It's Saturday."

The caretaker scowls and turns back to the window. Lysander's happy to see that his hand moves to the place he pointed out and soon, the glass is free from the dirt.

"Time for mopping?" Lysander asks, holding out the man's mop.

Filch snatches it. Hobbling along, he dips it into a metal bucket and works his way along the floor. Lysander follows him, counting all the flagstones as they go along and making sure not to step on any of the cracks that join them—Lorcan once said that if he did, he'd break their mother's back, and he doesn't want to do that.

A comfortable silence envelops them as they work, and he notices again that Filch is just as good with details as he is. When they come across a faded scuff mark, Filch scrubs it away. Lysander thinks he finally understands why his mother likes friendships so much.

They finally come to Filch's office and the man walks in. Lysander sees Mrs Norris lying on the floor as his friend bends down and speaks soothing words to her. He then picks up the book on his desk, and this time Lysander can see its title: _Squibs Can Magic Too!_ by Gilderoy Lockhart.

It's an interesting subject, but before he can tell Filch he thinks so, the man heads back to the door.

"Off with you! Now!" he says, slamming the door.

The noise hurts his ears, but Lysander doesn't mind. He understands that his friend needs some alone time, and he's had enough company himself for one day.

* * *

"Get this one, right: What do Santa's little helpers learn at school? The elf-abet!"

"That's awful."

Even though the Slytherin boy says it's awful, Lysander can see him laughing. It doesn't make sense, but he doesn't have time to ponder it as he turns back to the task at hand. He's pinning a sprig of mistletoe over the entrance to the fifth-floor corridor and he needs to make sure it's perfectly in the centre. Filch says he's too old to climb ladders and he doesn't want to use magic to do it. The only time he does let Lysander use magic is when he makes potions for Mrs Norris to make her feel better.

"You're a funny one, aren't you?" Filch says as he climbs down.

Lysander shakes his head. "I'm not funny; I don't like jokes."

He's not sure if maybe he is funny and doesn't know it because for once, the corners of Filch's lips turn up. "I don't like jokes either."

Perhaps it's the Nargles in the mistletoe—his mother had told him they like to help people out—that makes him want to keep talking because he says, "I like Muggle things, like soldiers."

Filch's lips are pressed together again and he turns to a Ravenclaw boy skidding down the hall. "You there! If I catch you, you'll be hanging from your toes!"

The boy doesn't stop running, but Lysander still feels like talking. He looks at Filch's jacket.

"You have a xanadu coat."

"A what?" Filch turns back to him.

"A xanadu coat. It's the same colour that Muggle soldiers wear."

Filch's jaw is quivering again. "I'm nothing like a Muggle," he says. "What are you imply—oi, you there! Stop! "

He stops talking and hobbles after another student who comes running past. Lysander goes to follow them, but a voice stops him.

"There you are, Ly," Lorcan says. "I've just gotten a letter from Mum saying that she and Dad will be off on an expedition next week. We're to stay at school for Christmas as Grandfather is ill."

Lysander's hands come together and he starts twisting him, no longer feeling happy. They always spend Christmas with their parents—always. Lorcan sees and gently places his hands over them.

"Hey, it's okay. It just means we'll spend our first year here at school with friends."

At the mention of friends, the hand twisting increases. He now has another worry. He hasn't spent Christmas with a friend before, and he doesn't know what to do. When he voices these concerns to Lorcan, his twin smiles.

"Good on ya," he says. "I'm glad you've made a real friend."

Lysander realises he's referring to the third-year Gryffindor boy, Scott Snyde, he'd made friends with earlier. He'd thought Scott was nice, but Lorcan had said the brunet was just using him to do his homework and had hexed him.

"It's nothing to stress about," Lorcan continues. "Usually, friends give each other a present and play games at dinner."

He nods as he takes this information in. "I could get him a soldier figurine!"

Lorcan sighs. "You've got to give your friend something _they_ would like, not what you'd want."

He nods again, mulling over what Filch would like. He wants to get it right, and with exactly twelve days, seven hours, and sixteen minutes until Christmas, he doesn't have much time to pursue one.

* * *

It's nine o'clock on Christmas morning, but when he stands in front of Filch's office door, he finds it locked. He wrings his hands together, not sure what he should do; the door should be open.

He takes a deep breath, knowing that if Lorcan were here, he'd tell him to stop fidgeting, and knocks on the door.

It's a while before Filch answers, but when he does, Lysander notices that his eyes are bloodshot. "What?"

He fishes the wrapped parcel from his pocket and holds it out. "Merry Christmas."

Filch stares at him, his jaw doing that quivering thing again. When he doesn't accept it, Lysander realises he has to explain what it is—Filch probably doesn't like surprises either.

"It's a Potions book. You can use it for Mrs Norris."

Lysander doesn't understand why Filch's face turns crimson. "Nothing will help Mrs Norris, you fool! She's gone!"

He peeks past Filch's legs into the office and sees Mrs Norris lying in her basket. There's a blanket covering her, but her tail is poking out.

"But she's right there—"

Filch slams the door and soon a funny sniffling sound can be heard from behind it. Lysander drops the parcel at the door and tries not to cry himself, not sure why his friend doesn't want him around.

* * *

Lysander doesn't think he'll pursue a friendship again. He's seen Filch a few times over the last week, but the man doesn't speak to him or anyone else. He doesn't even wear his nice xanadu coat anymore, even though it's still very cold.

The eleven-year-old sits against the wall, a magazine in his lap. This one doesn't have pictures of Muggle soldiers in it, but he still likes the bright colours and the way the moving pictures capture his attention. Apparently, so do the other kids.

"What've got there?" Scott Snyde asks, smirking down at him.

He takes the magazine off him without asking and flips through it.

"Don't tell me you believe in this rubbish," he says, pointing to his grandfather's article on Blibbering Humdingers.

Lysander reaches up for the magazine, but the boy lifts it higher. There's a sneer on his face as he wrinkles the pages and tears the corners.

"Merlin, it's a wonder you're still here. You're no better than a Squib!"

"What's all this then? Students fooling around in the corridors? I'll be nailing your ears to the wall!"

Scott drops the magazine and sprints off before Filch reaches them. Lysander notices that the man's wearing his xanadu coat again.

"Rotten kids are always loitering," he says, but his voice doesn't sound angry. "Well? Are you coming? I've been waiting for you; there's plenty of work to be done and I don't feel like doing it alone."

He draws his eyes from the man's coat and continues up to his face. Filch's lips are tilted up at the corners, only a little bit. When he meets his gaze, he sees that, although still sad, his moonstone-blue eyes are warm.

Lysander rolls up his magazine and stands. A small smile forms on his face as they head towards their usual starting point.

Filch understands him, and if the man wanted to pursue a friendship, he'd try again.

* * *

 _ **Additional, very long but somewhat important A/N: First and foremost, this story attempts to explore the world from a person with Autism's perspective (whilst not explicitly revealed in the story, it is implied). As I have stated in another story of mine (**_ **Understanding Irma** _ **, written as a character on the outside looking in), I do not have Autism myself, so I can't say for 100% what it is actually like. I've tried to do as much research as possible, from websites to television shows and books, and even using my experiences as both a teacher and cousin. I've just some common traits, such as hand gestures, routines, difficulty in forming and keeping friendships and maintaining eye contact, high intelligence, literal interpretations, and other things to form the basis of Lysander's actions. Whilst some scientists use twins to prove genetics are a factor for Autism, it doesn't always mean both twins will be Autistic or even on the wider spectrum; as such, this could be considered AU.**_

 _ **I, therefore, apologise profusely if any of this seems stereotypical or offensive. My sincere intention is to shed light on Autism in a positive way (mind you, although Filch seems to be the only 'friend,' it's not simply because he's a Squib or an outcast; it's because, deep down, I think he'd understand the niceties of quiet company and I've always been interested in him having a friend other than Mrs Norris), and I genuinely want to understand more about what it's like, not just for my teaching but for everyday life.**_

 _ **In other news, I've always seen James (James Sirius Potter) as someone who could be a little entitled given his father's fame (but deep down kind-hearted) and the same with Fred Weasley (like his Uncle Ron, perhaps a tad tactless). Mrs Norris, of course, has more than nine lives (hey, it's magic!), and the jokes are not mine (brought to you by several quick Google search results—they're everywhere). Yes, Scott is related somehow to Merula Snyde from 'Hogwarts Mystery' and Jonathon is related to Barnaby... I couldn't help myself.**_

 _ **Grammarly seems to point out that xanadu should be capitalised, but it's a colour in this instance, not *that* movie and not a place.**_

 _ **Finally, this style of writing is something new to me that I've used throughout this competition on and off. I'd like to think I'm getting better at it, but, well, who knows? :') I try haha.**_


End file.
